


Second Chance To Make A First Impression

by ouiser_boudreaux



Category: The Arcana (Visual Novel)
Genre: F/M, Light Dom/sub, Roleplay, Switch Julian Devorak
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-11
Updated: 2020-11-11
Packaged: 2021-03-10 06:28:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,751
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27509851
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ouiser_boudreaux/pseuds/ouiser_boudreaux
Summary: Vissenta makes a drunk confession to Julian about her feelings when they first met, and Julian takes her up on the idea.
Relationships: Apprentice/Julian Devorak, Julian Devorak/Original Female Character(s)
Comments: 2
Kudos: 99





	Second Chance To Make A First Impression

**Author's Note:**

> We all love sub!Julian but I would like to put forth that he is just VERY dedicated to serving his partner and when his partner wants a lil dom!Julian action he goes full theater kid and ROLLS WITH IT.
> 
> Or, this ended up being the smuttiest thing I've written yet, so I guess we stan switch!Julian in this house.

“Remember the first time you broke in here?”

Julian blinked, already half asleep in a warm haze of alcohol, and struggled to make eye contact with Vissenta. “What?”

Vissenta was lying half-draped over Julian, both of them still fully clothed, just a tad too drunk to get undressed before they’d collapsed in the bed. “You know.” She poked Julian’s chest, her head snug in the curve of his shoulder. “After the… when you were still on the run.” She mumbled these words into Julian’s neck, suddenly blushing furiously. “All… mysterious n stuff.”

“Mysterious?” Julian finally managed to land a kiss on Vissenta’s forehead. “You think so?”

If he’d been able to see Vissenta’s face, he’d know that she was flushed a deep crimson, partly from the wine, and partly from where her mind had started to wander. “I mean, at the time.”

Julian chuckled. “So, a mysterious wanted criminal. Is that your type?”

There was a long pause, so long that Julian thought Vissenta had maybe gone to sleep, and he let his eyelids droop. The moment stretched out, and suddenly Vissenta said something inaudible right into his collarbone. His eyes fluttered back open. “What did you say?”

Vissenta groaned and tilted her head up. “I said, I wanted you to rail me over the counter.”

Now it was Julian’s turn to turn scarlet. “You, ah… you what?”

Emboldened, Vissenta pushed herself up on her elbows to look Julian in the eye. “I said…” She blinked furiously, searching for the words, and focused her gaze. “Came in here all ooooh, I’m Julian Devorak, I’m tall, dark and dangerous, calling me a witch--”

“I called Asra a witch,” Julian interrupted.

Vissenta waved away the minor detail. “...and you could’ve bent me over that counter and fucked me senseless and I’d have begged you for more.” She bit her lip and looked away. “I mean, that was before I got to know you and…” She rolled away from him then and buried her face in the pillow. “Ugh! Forget it.”

The Salty Bitters had begun to take their toll, and Julian let his eyes close once more. “If you say so.” He reached over and found her hand with his and squeezed her fingers reassuringly. “Sleep. Need it.”

* * *

A week later, Vissenta had all but forgotten her drunk confession. She was tidying up in the shop, locking away amulets and recataloging herbs to make her shopping list for the next day, when she realized that the sun had gone down and Julian still wasn’t home. She straightened from her list-making, frowning, and crossed the room to open the front door. Her eyes swept the length of the street. No sign of Julian anywhere. Her frown turned to a moue of confusion and she folded her arms, lingering on the stoop for a minute more before ducking back into the shop and locking the door behind her. She twitched the curtains closed with a sigh.  _ Probably just another long night at the clinic. _

There was a soft  _ tchk _ and the sound of lock tumblers jiggling from the back door, followed by the slow creak of the door opening. Vissenta froze, eyes wide, and rested one hand on the athame at her belt. She inched toward the counter, reaching for something else to fend off the intruder, when a familiar figure came stumbling in from the back room.

After so much time together, Vissenta often forgot just how imposing Julian could be. Around her he normally folded like a bad hand of cards, reduced to breathless begging as she mercilessly teased him, or, under less arousing circumstances, simply doting and attentive and sweet in such a way that she could barely remember the certain  _ je ne sais  _ **_bastard_ ** that had drawn her to him in the first place. But at this very moment, in his overdramatic red-lined coat, filling the doorframe, and wearing, of all things, a plague doctor mask…

Her breath caught in her throat. Breaking in. The mask. Her pulse quickened and in the back of her mind she hoped, fervently, that he was up to what she thought he was up to. But just in case… she pulled the small blade from the sheath on her hip and pointed it at him. “Who the hell are you?”

Julian crossed his arms. “So this witch has claws,” he said, voice low and measured, and he took a step forward.

There was an extra emphasis on the word “witch,” and their late-night post-Raven conversation the week before all came flooding back to Vissenta, and she felt warmth flush her cheeks and pool deep in her belly. She kept the knife leveled at him as she backed away with each step he took, circling around the counter, other hand finally landing on a metal jar lid. She picked it up, testing its heft, and with a muttered charm to help her aim she lobbed it at the nose of Julian’s mask.

What had been left to chance on the night of their first meeting went off without a hitch again, and the beaked mask flew from Julian’s face and clattered to the ground. He looked down at it with some degree of genuine surprise and his lips curled into a sneer. When he looked back at Vissenta, his uncovered eye glittered with delight that bordered on feral. “Oh, well done.” He took several long strides to meet her behind the counter and, before Vissenta could react, took both of her wrists with his hands. “I’d much rather you see my face, anyway.”

Caught off guard, Vissenta dropped the knife, and she curled her hands into fists and tried to pull away. Julian had a good grip on her, though, and when his fingers tightened further, the trickle of heat she’d felt earlier turned to a flood. When she finally found the words to make a biting reply, she surprised herself by stammering. “It’s… it’s a b-better face than I was expecting.” She gasped and bit down on her lower lip when Julian yanked her toward him, pressing one lean muscled thigh between her legs. She resisted the urge to push back against him, but she couldn’t help the way she looked up at him beneath her lashes as she continued to worry her lip between her teeth.

Julian really only knew Vissenta when she was ravenous, starving, taking hold of him and telling him where to go to bring her over the edge. She was a greedy little thing, a woman who knew what she wanted and wasn’t afraid to take it from him, and gods alive he loved it, it’s what he loved most about her. But right now, with her body pulled flush to his as he towered over her, her eyes half-open and pleading with him to take what he wanted, her normally greedy demeanor gone hungry and begging, he understood the virtues of selfishness. She was practically mewling, wrists gone boneless in his grasp, and he wanted to turn those mewls to something more.

He was grinning now, grinning in that damned roguish way of his, where one corner of his mouth tilted ever so slightly higher than the other, and he cocked one eyebrow. His eye had gone from steel to storm, dark with lust, wandering the map of Vissenta’s face to find the path to bring them both over the edge. “Is it?” He leaned forward, noting with relish that she gasped again and her cheeks flushed crimson and her dark lashes fluttered closed and she’d gone from biting her lip to opening her mouth expectantly and she tilted her face towards his, to find his lips. He wasn’t going to give it to her that easily. His lips brushed her ear instead, his teeth grazing the lobe, and his breath ghosted warm as his next rasping question sent a shudder all the way down Vissenta’s spine. “Does it make you wet, little witch?”

All Vissenta could manage at this was a moan and before she even thought about what she was doing, she ground against his thigh. Julian pressed against her, harder this time, and Vissenta forgot herself entirely, her moans shamefully wanton, her fingers flexing once more, not to find escape but to find Julian’s chest. Her fingertips brushed the buttons of his coat.

At this Julian laughed and pulled his thigh away, his smirk growing when Vissenta whined in response. “So needy.” He let go of her but tsked and pushed her hands away when she went for his coat buttons again. “You’re certainly not in a position to make demands, you know.”

Shockingly, Vissenta let her hands fall to her side. She seemed entranced, as if Julian were the magician instead of her, and she looked up to his face again, her chest heaving. “What do you want, Doctor Devorak?”

Julian had begun to work at the knot of the belt looped around his waist. He  _ leered _ at her, growing more and more comfortable with the part he played, looking like he was  _ enjoying _ this, and Vissenta felt her knees go weak. She reached for the counter instead of him and her eyes flicked over to the knife she’d dropped on the glass surface.

As if reading her mind, Julian reached out to brush the knife from the counter to the floor. “Ah, ah, can’t have you using that, can we?” He’d finished untying the tasseled cord by now and took hold of her wrists once more. “Or using your hands at all,” he murmured into her ear as he folded her arms behind her and got to work. He pressed into her, making sure she could feel the hard length of him against her ass as he looped the braided cord, tying her wrist-to-forearm, her elbows bent in perfect right angles. She sucked in a breath when he tightened the knots and he pushed against her again, his erection straining against his trousers almost painfully when she involuntarily arched her back to meet him. 

He was going to come soon if she didn’t stop that.

He took hold of the long plait of hair hanging down her back and wound his fingers in the braided strands, looping it around his hand, and pulled. Vissenta groaned, and when he tugged her head around to meet his gaze, her eyes had rolled back in a picture of exquisite, agonized pleasure. His cock twitched again, and spurred on by the part he was quickly learning to love playing, he gave her hair another tug. “Look at me.”

Vissenta obeyed him, her green eyes gone nearly black with desire, and Julian could tell that she’d entered that same space he did whenever she took charge, and he could have kissed her then and abandoned the whole pretense, but then she licked her parted lips and he was back in the moment. He brought his other hand up to his mouth and, with his teeth, took hold of the middle fingertip of his glove. He tugged, sliding the glove off, and saw with satisfaction that Vissenta was watching so attentively, so  _ quietly _ , so  _ hungrily _ , and he felt her shift beneath him. She was canting her hips backwards again, trying so hard to make contact, but she stilled when he brought his hand down and pressed a finger into her mouth.

Gods, the way she sucked on his finger, running her tongue along it. Julian resisted the urge to close his own eyes and screwed his focus back to the sticking place, drawing his finger from her mouth, but not before she bit down. The sharp sting of her teeth nearly sent him over the edge again but he held fast, turning his smirk to a snarling sneer and pulling on her hair again. “And you were being so good,” he growled, surprising himself and surprising Vissenta with the intensity in his voice. He reached down and pushed his hand beneath the waistband of Vissenta’s loose pants, reaching straight for her cunt, drawing his fingers along her slick entrance. “I think you’re enjoying this, witch.” 

He dragged upward, brushing against her clit, and Vissenta cried out. “Oh, fuck you,” she whined, and gasped when he pressed against the bundle of nerves again, rubbing rough circles until she was bucking against him once more.

Julian let out a throaty laugh. “Oh no, I’ll be the one fucking you.” He withdrew his hand, fingers coated in slick, and brought it to Vissenta’s mouth. “And you want me to.” He pressed his fingers into her parted lips. “Taste how much you want it.”

Obediently, Vissenta sucked on his fingers, and Julian couldn’t hold back any longer. He let go of her hair and reached to push his trousers down, just enough to let his rigid cock spring free, and pulled down Vissenta’s pants. He took a moment to let his hand linger along the curve of her ass, giving it a squeeze, almost gentle, almost as if to remind them both of what lay beneath the parts they played, before taking hold of his cock and pressing it against her opening. When he thrust into her, she bit down on his fingers again, and without a second thought Julian brought his hand down on her ass with a smack that made her gasp. She forgot all about sucking on Julian’s fingers and let go to press her flushed face against the cool glass of the countertop, groaning.

The sound went straight to Julian’s groin and he thrust again, punctuating it with another slap. “The witch likes that too, hm?” He didn’t get a coherent answer out of Vissenta, just another moan, and she writhed against him. He took hold of her hips and began to pound against her in earnest, watching her brow furrow as she gasped and moaned and whispered a string of obscenities and strained against the cord binding her arms.

Julian could feel himself getting close, but even like this, even taking control, he had to serve her first, had to put her pleasure before his own, and he reached a hand down to press against her clit, rubbing a merciless rhythm to match the rocking of his thrusts, and he could hear her breath start to come in ragged, panting gasps. “That’s it,” he managed to rasp out. “Come for me, little witch.”

Like this, there was nothing Vissenta could do but obey. She rocked back, lifting her head from the counter and crying out as she arched her back. Her stream of curses and filthy endearments went from whispers to shouts and Julian could feel her clenching against him and he couldn’t hold back any longer and, with one last shuddering thrust, spent himself inside her.

They stood there for a moment, still joined, before Julian finally reached down to untie Vissenta’s bindings. She slumped against the counter with a sigh. With some reluctance, he pulled away, not caring about the mess they’d both make, and started rubbing Vissenta’s limp arms. “Visha,” he murmured, and the bastardized Neviv version of a diminutive seemed to be the thing to break the spell and bring her back to life.

She stood up and twisted around, melting against him, her face the picture of bliss. “Ilya,” she replied, wrapping her arms around his torso. She sighed against him and smiled. “Thank you.”

“For you? Anything.” Julian rubbed her back and kissed the top of her head. “I see why you like it.”

Vissenta hummed, a chuckle at the back of her throat. “You can do it again, if you like.” She paused, relaxing into the feeling of Julian massaging her shoulders. “Where the hell did you find the mask?”

“Er, I, ah…” Julian could feel himself blushing. “Might’ve stopped by the theater and, uh, borrowed it. Added realism, you know.”

Vissenta snorted. “So dedicated.”

Julian couldn’t help himself. “Dedicated to you, yes.”

At this, Vissenta laughed. She tilted her face up to his and lifted her eyebrows, her lips quirking up in a mischievous smile. “How dedicated are you to carrying me up the stairs and having another go at it?”

When Julian actually lifted her up, she yelped a little bit in surprise. He caught her lips in a kiss and let his teeth graze along the bottom one. “My little witch has more to show me?”

Vissenta tugged on one of the longer locks of hair that fell over his forehead and brushed at her cheek. “So much more.”


End file.
